


Deny the Evanescent

by Jesse



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, RIGHT NOW WE'RE BEING EMOTIONAL, and they both probably need to talk about Stuff, but they can do that later, optimus is a big big gay and he loves his panty-plated medic, ratchet needs to kick his feelings in the ass, smokescreen is being a dipshit but it's okay bc we love him, this is all post-darkmount
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 20:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17086895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jesse/pseuds/Jesse
Summary: Optimus Prime is not dead. One would think that showing up to the battle at Darkmount would bring nothing but ecstatic feelings, but not for Ratchet. After having tried his best to accept Optimus' death, seeing him alive and well is conflicting and it's hard. He just needs to know if his feelings are still okay to keep.





	Deny the Evanescent

The night is sticky. Normally this entire sector of Earth is dry, but there’s humidity lingering in the air. Ratchet can feel it in his joints as he busies himself with whatever he can think of. Trying to distract himself through whatever means necessary. Trying to keep his outbursts ground between his dentae and keeping his optics locked on the monitor in front of him. Optimus is back, and while Ratchet couldn’t be happier about that, it’s still a heavy shock to him. In some ways, his body is still trying to process the overwhelming grief from his death, of which Ratchet had been so sure of. So he keeps himself busy, trying to sort his thoughts as best he can, but also trying to make himself appear collected and as normal as possible. Not wanting to seem out of place by rejoicing over Optimus’ return, despite the fact that that’s exactly what he wants to do. Everyone would catch on if they haven’t already, and Ratchet has always done his best to keep his feelings for Optimus as quiet as he can. It’s no one’s business.

It becomes a little easier to work when the noise in the base subsides. Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee take their human friends back to their homes, and Ratchet feels like he can finally think with a little bit more peace. Less distractions. The only sounds that linger in the base are from Optimus and Ultra Magnus talking with each other, and Smokescreen occasionally butting in. Wheeljack hasn’t been in the base for a few hours, having ran off to scout the area and do a little clean-up of lingering Decepticons, but he’s been checking in every so often, just to let everyone know that he’s doing okay.

Only a few more minutes pass them by when Ultra Magnus is finally fed up with Smokescreen’s interruptions, and decides to take the speedster out on patrol with him. Despite the rather loud protests from Smokescreen, Ultra Magnus is firm, and with Optimus siding with Ultra Magnus’ decisions, the two make their way out of the base as well.

The base is quiet. The only noises Ratchet can distinguish now are the gentle shifting of plating as Optimus moves around, and the sound of his own trembling fingers on the keypad in front of him. Ratchet keeps his optics on his work, forcing himself to stay cool and to not make a big deal out of anything. Surely Optimus expected Ratchet to not believe he was dead. Optimus probably expects him to act like nothing ever happened. Go back to normal. Denying the grip of evanescence that had once mercilessly threaded through his spark. But it was not even remotely possible for Ratchet to ever forget Optimus. There are vorns between them that Ratchet knows can never be displaced in his memory. He may be old, but his memory filing is still as accurate as it’s always been.

Frowning, Ratchet begins another perimeter scan, hoping that the sensor net will remain active until he’s able to go out with Bumblebee and repair his waypoints. It’s too risky to go now; there’s still Decepticons stragglers from Darkmount wandering around the area, and Ratchet isn’t eager to go toe-to-toe with any of them. Despite his faith in Wheeljack’s skills, it’s a game that the medic doesn’t want to play. He’ll simply have to run mild scans and hope for the best.

“Ratchet.”

Whirling around, Ratchet finds himself staring directly at Optimus’ chest, wondering how deep he’d been immersed in his own thoughts to not hear or even feel the Prime’s heavy steps coming over towards him. He forces himself to look up, feeling a heavy sense of grief tangled with deep longing beginning to knot in the core of his spark as he finds the two of them now looking each other in the eye. Those optics.. no matter how far away from Cybertron they’ve been, whenever Ratchet finds himself lost in them, he always feels like he’s home.

“Yes, Optimus?” Ratchet’s response is delayed, and his voice catches as he says Optimus’ name, and he silently prays that he doesn’t pay attention to it.

Optimus is quiet for a moment, breaking his gaze with Ratchet as he awkwardly looks over at the door. “You have been quiet.”

“I’m always quiet when I’m working,” the medic replies, perhaps a bit too quickly. “We have a lot of work to do after this battle at Darkmount, and I don’t intend to just leave my engines idling and do nothing.”

“That was not what I meant.. and I think you know that.” Optimus’ voice is gentle; he’s not chastising Ratchet. Merely stating a fact, and a true one at that.

Ratchet’s servos move to his sides and behind him, gripping the surface that his keypad is resting on. Fingers curling underneath it, gripping it tighter than is necessary. Holding onto it like it’s the only thing to keep him tethered. “I.. just haven’t wanted to bother you,” he says vaguely, “Everyone has been excited to see you again and have been eager to talk to you.”

“Have you?”

Ratchet’s fingers fiercely grip the underside of the counter, feeling his fingertips leaving indents in the metal. He can’t lie. Optimus will know. He always knows.

“.. I have.”

The corners of Optimus’ mouth turn upward ever so slightly, and Ratchet can feel his spark feathering madly in its casing. Having wanted to see that smile for so long. Feeling like his relays are melting into his circuits and leaving him overheated from the inside out. It only increases tenfold when Optimus gently places his servos on Ratchet’s shoulders, and the medic feels like his knee struts might give and he’ll collapse to the floor.

“Have your feelings changed.. now that my form is different?” It’s a silly question to Ratchet, but Optimus’ voice is low and serious. His optics seem to pierce right through Ratchet’s own, as if he could read the medic’s thoughts before he even thinks them.

“No!!” Ratchet blurts out, his hands releasing the countertop and holding them up in front of him in visible protest, “No, no.. no.” His voice is now a little softer, slower. Fingers curling in towards his palms before gently pressing them to Optimus’ sides. Letting them rest there. Optimus doesn’t make any indication that he doesn’t want that. It stirs Ratchet’s spark a little, and he upturns his face again, gazing at the taller mech before him. “Have yours changed, then..?”

“No.” Optimus looks down at Ratchet, gazing at him with that soft fondness in his optics that had only ever been for the medic and no one else. Ratchet can see it. He can see it and he can feel his spark swelling in response, to the point where he feels like it might burst.

Standing on the tips of his pedes, Ratchet gently places his servos on either side of Optimus’ face, cradling the mech that he loves so much. “Optimus..” he whispers, not trusting his vocalizer to remain steady for much longer.

The large servos on Ratchet’s shoulders slowly travel up to his face. Fingers lightly resting on the sides of his neck, thumbs awkwardly brushing his cheek ridges.

Ratchet slowly shutters his optics, letting the moment take him like water drowns, and he stretches himself up enough to kiss the mech he holds so lovingly. His kiss is received, and he’s given one back. He holds this one, keeping their frames close together, ignoring the lubricant welling around his closed optics and streaking down his face, spilling over Optimus’ thumbs.

The moment is seared into his memory, nearly overriding everything else that he’s thinking about. Not caring about the other things. Only focused on this. This moment. Him. Optimus. His Conjunx Endura. All these millions of years shared being lost to the hungry mouth of foggy memory and misplaced memory chips could never hope to displace their feelings. Not here, not now. Not ever.

For now, he’s happy with just this moment. There will be more, but this is one that he’ll keep.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my gift to @cuddlingdragons on Twitter for this year's TF Secret Santa project.


End file.
